Cat eyes
by WriterKos
Summary: A chance encounter in the beach gives McGee the change of diving in a centuries old secret.    Written for The Game Is Afoot! - Sherlock Holmes Challenge from NFA - last chapter up.
1. A chance encounter

**_Title: Cat eyes  
Author: WriterKos  
Rating: FR15  
Parings: McGee/OFC  
Characters: McGee, OC, the whole Gang from NCIS.  
Genres: Character study, Romance, Drama  
Summary: A chance encounter in the beach gives McGee the change of diving in a centuries old secret._**

_**Written for The Game Is Afoot! - Sherlock Holmes Challenge from NFA**  
_

"Do you believe in fate?"

I open my eyes and look at the red-haired beauty now lying against my chest, one of her fine fingers doing lazy circles over my jumper clad chest. We're lying on a blanket hearing the roaring of the waves breaking on the beach, and the hungry seagulls flying over the billows looking for fish.

I feel the warmth of her breathing against my neck, and also the warmth of a big canine body on my other side, where Jethro decided to cuddle me too.

I've tried to push him away, but she simply giggled and told me that he wanted only to share body heat.

So Jethro stayed.

I consider her question carefully, causing her to leave the comfort of my arms and look down at me with those beautiful cat colored eyes that had hypnotized me and conquered me from the first moment I looked into them.

"So? Do you believe in fate?"

I sigh and lift myself a little, supporting myself on my elbows so I can better look into her eyes. My gaze automatically glides to those pink pouty lips that have driven me crazy since I've met her, and I think about our first meeting and the following dates that soon followed.

"I have to say that I didn't believe in it for long time. Fate seemed a deity too cruel whose only enjoyment was to laugh at the despair and troubles it throws in our path. But after these last months…" one of my hands goes up, my fingers getting tangled with her glorious red hair that cascades in soft waves over her shoulder.

She knows I prefer her hair free, untamed, falling unrestrained over her back as in the day when we've first met.

She notices my eyes glazing over as I stare hypnotized at her hair, and she smiles that satisfied smile women do when they are aware of their power over us, poor men, who are reduced to rambling fools when in the presence of such glorious creature.

"I think I believe in it now."

She smiles, leaning down so her pink lips touch mine. I feel then the same electricity and awe I've felt the first time I've met the one who is the other half of my soul.

This is our story.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

It was one of those spring days that make you feel like conquering the world, as the last chill of the air is finally gone and flowers seem to be showing their bulbous heads out of the melting snow everywhere.

That fine morning I've decided to take Jethro running on the beach, so I've packed everything I might need and left early my apartment in SilverSprings and drove to the Chesapeake bay. After driving around, I've found a nice clean and empty stretch of sand and left my car.

Jethro was in his element, running and barking and jumping in the water. I would throw a stick to him and he would do amazing jumps in the air, catching the twig and coming back with it, faithfully depositing it at my feet, eager for another round.

We've played like that the whole morning, until hunger pains started to bother me. I returned to the car and dug out a picnic basket I've prepared especially for today, and along with Jethro went in search of a shaded place where we could sit and have our lunch.

I unpacked my things and sat down to eat, preparing two bowls for Jethro, one with water and another with food.

I sat down to eat my fresh sandwich, and I noticed for the first time that our desert beach wasn't as deserted as before.

Several yards away there was a woman walking lazily by the surf, her gaze lost in the constant movement of waves. She was in a deep maroon top, which hugged her firm young breasts in a very welcoming way, and a hippie white shirt that she was holding its lower part in one of her hands, in order to avoid the water lapping on her naked feet.

Her sandals were hanging by thin stripes from her other hand, and the water had turned her white skirt almost transparent, showing off firm toned muscles, despite her efforts of avoiding the waves.

Her skin was white, lily white, but her most amazing feature was the glorious red hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder, which moved like a living thing as the wind flowed through her tresses and glued her hair and her wet skirt against her young body.

I heard Jethro whining, and I was suddenly aware that I had stopped chewing my sandwich to stare at that vision. I swallowed with difficulty and forced myself to look away, turning to my picnic basked and looking for a cold soda, as I definitely needed something cool.

Mission accomplished, I sat back on my blanket, and I almost blew a gasket when I saw the woman had just shed her clothes on the sand, and now she was slowly entering the still freezing waters in a bright green bikini. I saw her folding her arms over her upper chest, her skin spiking in goosebumps, but yet she waded further in the water, until with a screech she jumped head first in the water, getting herself wet all over.

She swam a little and when she came up for air again, her teeth must have been chattering, but still she swam.

I watched it for a few minutes, and once she was finished her routine she swam to the shore, towards the place where she had left her clothes.

And of course that was when Jethro decided that it would be fun to swim with the beautiful stranger, so he left our hidden spot and ran towards the swimming nymph.

She startled a little when she saw the huge German shepherd dog coming towards herself, but when she noticed that he only wanted to play, she started laughing and swimming beside him.

I left my place and ran towards them, and noticed her becoming tense when she saw me standing at the sand. She was, after all, alone in the beach, in just a bikini while I was fully clothed. She stood there, knees deep in the water, staring at me as I forced myself to keep my eyes on her face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to intrude. I'll just take the dog." I looked at Jethro, who was now running after its own tail and barking. "Come on Jethro, time to go. Leave her alone."

She nodded, and we both glanced at my dog.

Jethro stopped and leaned his head to the side, looking at me then to the beautiful lady. He finally decided that she was much more interesting, and ran towards her, barking and splashing water everywhere. She screeched and started to run laughing, with the dog running after her, playing tag.

"Jethro, stop!" I ran after the dog too, and I ended up running into the water trying to catch him, so my clothes were soon all wet.

Jethro thought it was a new game, and he kept running away from us and evading my efforts to catch him, at the same time he ran around the lady, who was laughing as he ran after her. Suddenly we made wrong turn, and we collided as we both tried to run: she from the dog and me towards the dog.

We fell to the ground in a mess of arms and legs and I suddenly found myself in a very awkward situation, with a semi naked woman lying on top of my chest as my arms were all full of her … curves.

"Ah!" she lifted her gaze and our eyes met, and I was momentarily speechless. She had different eye colors. One was hazel, a soft honey color with touches of dark brown, while the other was a deep green with dots of hazel.

"I'm sorry, mister…" she said in a soft accent that I at first could not identify, her eyes investigating mine as carefully as I looked into hers. Yet she didn't make any movement to leave my arms.

"McGee. Timothy McGee."

She wiggled in my arms, and supported herself with her hands resting on the sand at each side of my head, her firm young body now lying fully against mine. I had to bite my lower lip to stop the moan that was about to escape, and my action was not unnoticed, as she followed it with her gaze, before she looked at me again with smiling eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Timothy McGee. I'm Margot Watson."


	2. Once upon a time

**_Chapter 2: Once upon a time_**

_**July 2001, outside Lagnes, Provence**_

The light shone brightly over the fields of Provence, France, where the scent of lavender filled the air with an intoxicating perfume.

And through the lavender fields, a red haired girl ran between the bushes filled with flowers, her bright yellow dress billowing in the wind as she ran down the slope towards the small farm house in the small Ville de Lagnes, in Provence.

Her barefoot feet hit the soft earth as she ran eager to answer her father's call, who had summoned her to speak urgently to her.

She jumped over a small fence, congratulating herself over her small feat, before crossing the small backyard filled with cooking herbs pots and shooed some chickens, which flew out of her way complaining loudly of her treatment of them.

She opened the door and entered the kitchen, out of breath, looking everywhere for her father.

"Papa?"

She couldn't find him in the kitchen, so she went from room to room, until she found him in his favorite place in the house. She smiled as she entered the small study of the country home.

In it, her old father sat in a rocking chair, his salt and pepper head leaning against his chest, and he had a small wooden chest in his hands. He looked at the chest with serious eyes, his calloused hands tracing the delicate wood with reverence.

She loathed breaking his funky mood, as her old father sometimes would lock himself into his study and stay hours brooding over his old books which he brought from England when he moved to France, several decades ago.

He met a lovely French lady who became his wife, and blessed him with their only child, Margot, who was the crown and glory of his old age. And he dotted on her, but she had always been a sweet girl so despite his efforts, he couldn't spoil her rotten.

_"Papa, Qu'est ce que tu veux de moi?"_ (Dad, what do you want from me?)

"Margot, sit down, we need to talk." Margot Louise Watson looked at the solemn face of her father, and sat on the chair he pointed with his hand.

Her father stilled his hand over the chest, and looked at his only child, and he smiled briefly as he saw how she had filled out and was almost a perfect copy of her mother, that beautiful lady who stole his heart when he firmly believed there was no heart left in him.

At sixteen, she was a bright young lady who would soon leave her father in the lavender fields and go to the city, trying to apply for one of the courses of the _Université _a few miles away.

But before she left, she had to learn about his past.

And her legacy.

"It's time for me to tell you a story."

She sighed enchanted, leaning forward eager to hear him.

"I love your stories, Papa. They are so full of adventure and treason and intrigue. And how the detective you created would go and save the day and get the girl in the end. And how they lived happily ever after. It's so romantic."

Mr. Watson chuckled with his daughter's romantic interpretation of his stories.

"Sweetheart, the point of the story is not that they've lived happily ever after."

She looked at him confused, " I don't understand."

Her father stood up and walked up to her, and silently passed the small wooden chest to her, "The point of the story is that they _lived_."


	3. Storytelling

_**Chapter 3: **__**Storytelling**_

"Aren't you cold?"

I notice how she is covered by goosebumps as we both stand from the sand, and she runs to her own clothes so she can cover her body from my eyes. However, even with her top and wet skirt, her skin is still wet and she is silently shivering.

"Freezing," she tries to get the water out of her hair, her beautiful red hair now a deep brownish copper due to the water in it.

I stare at her for a moment, until my brain finally is kicked into action by my manners, as I mentally give myself a head slap before taking off my mostly dry jumper, with a little bit of sand but dry, and offering it to her.

She stops her movements and stares at the jumper as if I'm offering a hissing snake.

"Please, take it."

"But you will be cold. _Je ne peux pas accepter_."

"Please, it was my dog that interrupted your swimming. It's the least I can do."

She lifts her delicate eyebrows, which I notice are also in the same shade of brownish copper of her hair, and accepts my jumper taking it from my hands being careful of not touching in my fingers.

She still looks at me very distrustfully as she holds my jumper before her body, and I respectfully look to the side as she hurries to put it over her still wet body, and it goes all the way to the middle of her thighs, which are barely covered by the sheer material of her white skirt.

When I look again at her, I can't help but smile at her, as she looks as if she is a child in a grown up clothes.

"Now you will be cold, _Monsieur _McGee."

"Nah... I have a blanket over there." I point distractedly where I left my picnic basket, and I can't help looking at her and I feel the smile in my face becoming wider, "besides, you look much better in it than I'll ever be."

She looks confused at me, struggling to understand what I've meant. Finally she gives up, and starts walking toward Jethro, who was lying on the sand looking at her adoringly. She kneels on the sand, and Jethro immediately offers his belly so she can rub it, which she does immediately.

_Lucky dog._

"You are not one of those crazy _Americains _who thinks it's okay to make fun of those who do not understand your jokes, _n_'_est_-_ce pas_?

"I would never dream of doing that."

She studies my face carefully, trying to find any untruth in it. Finally, she smiles brightly at me, "Would like some tea? _Mon Papa_ was English, so he got me addicted to the stuff. It's the least I can offer you in exchange for your …" She looks down to my jumper, trying to figure out the name of it in English.

"Jumper."

_"Oui, allons-y?"__  
_  
NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

After collecting my things of the picnic, we went walking towards a the end of the beach, where a small cabin - which I did not notice when I drove by - was located. Its white walls with blue trims were a typical example of the late nineteen century of the area, and I'm surprised to find out she's staying there on her own alone.

"Aren't you afraid of being here all by yourself?"

She rushes to the kitchen, putting immediately a kettle of water to boil. She opens the curtains of the airy kitchen, while I sit to study her as she flutters around the kitchen like a butterfly.

Jethro lies on the floor and simply stares at her, following her movements with one eye open. He soon is snoring away.

"_Non_, I like it here. I've been using _la mer _for inspiration." She points to the breaking waves outside. "I've been _verrry _productive since I've arrived here."

"And what do you do for a living?"

She smiles her bright smile, and it's very hard not to be hypnotized by the twinkle in her mismatched eyes. I'm completely aware that I'm staring, but I can't find the strength to look away from her eyes. One hazel, one green.

She mimics with her hand as if she is writing, "I'm a _nouvelliste_, I write children's books, and I also write and illustrate _band dessinees_."

_"Band des-" _

"_Band dessinee_."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what it is-"

Before I expose my ignorance further, she rushes into another room of the house. She leaves me there in the kitchen alone with Jethro and when she returns, she has several small magazines in her hands.

She stops in front of me and gives me them so I can check them. She looks at me anxiously waiting for my verdict.

"Comics. You draw comics."

She giggles and nods, pointing to the comics in my hands, "_Oui. Band dessinee."_

"Ah.." I pick one of them at random and look into it. They are in a very different style from the Japanese _mangas_ I've briefly collected but they remind me a little of Beatrix Potter's _The Tales of Peter Rabbit_."

"They're nice."

_"Merci."__  
_  
"It's quite a coincidence actually, because I'm a writer too."

She smiles at me, and my mind struggles to continue, as she gazes at me with those big cat eyes.

_"Quel type de roman__ aimez-vous le plus?"__  
_  
"Uhm?"

"What do you like the most? Crime? Adventure?"

"A little bit of both."

"Please," she sits down in front of me, her eyes fixed in my face, "Tell me one of your stories."

I chuckle, and try to remember one of the convoluted plots I've created based on the cases we've had in NCIS. I look into her eager youthful face, smiling like a little girl waiting for just one more story before going to bed. I gulp as the image of her in a bed looking up at me flashes in my mind, and start talking.

"Well, there's one that started like this..."


	4. The road less traveled

**_Chapter 4: The road less traveled_**

**_London_**  
**_Some day in the winter of 1883_**

Thick fog surrounds the passengers who rush to board the big train lying in wait at the station, surrounded by the smoke of the cigarettes and the haze typical of that time of the year in London.

A thin looking man in a thick winter coat gives his suitcase to the train valet, and looks around the platform, eager to be in his way, but his colleague and sidekick is late.

He opens a very delicate watch, checks the time again, and lifts his head, smiling when he sees the red haired man he was waiting for walking in hurried steps towards him in the busy platform. He, however, frowns when he notices the lack of suitcases in his hand.

"Watson, where are your things? The train departs in five minutes, we're expected in Surrey. There's a murder to be investigated and time is wasting."

The red haired man approaches his long time friend, and shakes his head, looking seriously at him with sad eyes.

"You will have to do this one on your own, Holmes. I'm not going with you this time."

"What?"

Sherman Holmes looks surprised at his faithful friend, noticing the stern look in the usual comely face of his sidekick.

"There's a mystery to be solved and you are not coming with me."

Watson takes his hat off, holding it in one of his hands as he rubs the other in his tired looking face, before glancing at his long time friend, "Holmes, how long have we been together in this business?

"Twelve years." Holmes looks at his friend, unable to understand the reason why for such sudden decision. Just the previous day, they were talking excitedly about the mystery they were about to solve.

"Have I ever let you down?"

"No, You've always been there for me. But why this sudden revolt? What have I done to cause such decision?"

"No Holmes." Watson sighs tiredly, looking around the platform, noticing the incessant movement of people. His gaze stops in a family, the father boarding the train while the mother and two children were hugging him and crying asking him not to go.

"All these years, I've been by your side and I've learnt a lot. I won't deny that this has been an amazing adventure. But … This has to end. I want a family someday, and going from one place to the other... I can't have it."

"So you are leaving me for a woman."

"Don't say that."

"Ah, but I'm saying it. Is it the lovely lady Barclay that had enticed you? Or, let me guess, lady Josephine Longman - Ah, she has been following you around. I've noticed her languishing looks at you at Lord Burton's dinner last week."'

"Holmes, please," Watson interrupts his friend, irritated, "I'm already forty years old. I have to settle down soon if I want a family. You might be happy with this adventure after adventure life... but I want a family to call my own. I want to be able to go home at night, and have sweet perfumed arms to sleep in when I lay in my bed. I can't follow you anymore. I'm sorry."

"I see."

Both men stay in silence, each deep in though, as they consider their options from now on.

"What's her name?" Holmes finally asks, studying his friend's face for a moment, finding a soft shine in his eyes as he speaks of his chosen one.

"Mary Elizabeth Thomas. I've might have mentioned her to you. I've treated her father two months ago of gout, and we've been writing to each other since then. I've spoken to her father, and he had agreed to my request for her hand this morning. We shall be married in the coming spring."

The train whistles, announcing that it would soon depart, and that their time is being cut short.

"So, our paths diverge here at Charing Cross."

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"No, do not apologize, my friend. I'm happy for you. May your adventures as a family man be exactly what you've dreamed of, and may Mary Thomas, soon to be Watson, be the brightest star of your old days."

Both men chuckle and hug, slapping each other's backs before taking a step back and, as if in a coordinated move, both put their hats on their heads in the same graceful move.

Holmes starts to board the train, however something makes him stop, turn around and study Watson with his always eager eyes.

"Will you do me a favor?"

"Sure, whatever you ask."

"When you have children..."

"Please, we haven't even gotten married yet."

"No, please, hear me out, Watson. When you have children, tell them about me. Not those sap stories that idiotic Scot is writing about me, based on my correspondence with him and changing my name to Sherlock. But tell them the true story. Who I really was. Will you do that?"

"Sure, if that's what you want. But you can still get married. Have children. Then you can tell your own offspring your story."

"Nah… That won't happen. I'm too settled in my own ways to bow to female wiles. My work is too demanding to share me with another lover. But you, my friend, will be the holder of my legacy. Don't let the true story die."

"I won't."

The train starts moving, and Watson walks along it, looking at Holmes standing at the train steps.

"You, my friend, are going to be very happy, and you will tell your children about uncle Holmes and his adventures."

"I will."

The train whistles and leaves the station, leaving Watson standing at the corner of the platform, watching as Holmes waves his hat to him, going to Surrey to solve one of many mysteries.

"I'll tell them your story, Holmes."

He waits until the train left Charing Cross station, before he touches the edge of his hat, fixing it on his head, lifts the neck of his trench coat, turns around leaving the station towards his fiancee's house, in order to start a new life, a new beginning.


	5. Letter writing

**_Chapter 5: Letter writing  
_**

_"Dear Watson, _

_This mystery puzzles me, so I rely on you, my friend, to help me solve it. Here in Surrey, the maid of Lady X has been found murdered after stealing a loaf of bread in the kitchen, which had been separated to serve Lord X. She..."_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Holmes, _

_Indeed, the arrival of your missive gave me great joy, as I could see that you still trusted my judgment on your cases. After carefully reading the facts presented in your letter, I have to agree with your deductions; however, I have to point the medical points that you can not ignore to solve this mystery. Now, if..."_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Watson, _

_How is the delightful Lady Mary Thompson, soon to be Watson? Have you decided in the date yet?_

_Yours truly, _

_H. "_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Holmes,_

_You are formally invited to attend the wedding …"_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Watson,_

_Seeing you so proud and proper waiting for your bride at church suddenly gave me visions of us covered with mud and dirt as we were chasing those scoundrels down in West End, after they've just …."_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Holmes,_

_As I write to you this letter, tears fill my eyes as I feel that life has granted me a great gift which I had never imagined that I would have the chance of holding in my arms. I have a son. A healthy red faced son, whose lungs are so strong his cries were heard throughout our residence, and whose name I've chosen from my family line. He's name is..."_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Watson,_

_Are you going to teach him about the great joys of logic and deductive reasoning? If not, I shall visit your house and steal him away from you, in order to indoctrinate him in the proper way to investigate things. Talking about investigation, my latest case has presented me the following puzzle..."_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Holmes._

_You. Would. Not. Dare. _

_Dr. W."_

NCIS NCIS NCIS

_"Dear Watson._

_Ha. I would._

_H."  
_


	6. Elementary, my dear McGee

**_Chapter 6: Elementary, my dear McGee_**

The elevator beeps and the doors open, and Special Agent McGee walks out of it with a swing on his step and a smile on his lips. He salutes the agents he meets on the corridor and leaves his backpack with a flourish on the floor by his chair.

He starts his morning routine exactly as every other day, booting his computer and checking his e-mails, and when Tony and Ziva arrive at work he is already doing his usual diagnosis on his computer.

"Good Morning," he says cheerfully, which immediately brings puzzled looks from his colleagues.

"Aren't we awfully happy today, Probie?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Tony."

"Indeed, you seem extremely happy today, McGee."

"I've just had a good weekend, that's all."

"Really?" Tony wiggles his eyebrows to Ziva, who smiles eager to hear the story.

"Yep, I went to the beach with Jethro. We had a great time together."

"Man, you have to loosen up. Only you would think that a day in the beach with a 90 pound dog is a great time, McDog. Now, if you had gone to the beach to enjoy the view of gorgeous sophomores in their tiny bikinis, as they walk towards the surf showing their amazing bodies, that's what I call entertainment."

"Life is not only about chasing women, Tony. It's about enjoying the peaceful moments when you have them, and being able to recognize the beauty of nature when it presents itself to you."

"You are being very poetic this morning, McGee."

"Beauty inspires me, Ziva." he answers with a smile, going back to his computer. "My writer's block, thanks to my outing, is completely gone, so I have been able to write several pages this Sunday."

"You're writing again? Do we have to remind you of what has happened the last time you based a story on us."

"Nah, you don't have to worry, this is completely unrelated to you."

"Really? Who are you basing your characters then?"

He smiles but doesn't answers her question.

"Writing again, McGee?" says Gibbs, walking in a hurry to his desk.

"Boss, I swear, it's not about you."

Gibbs shrugs, unimpressed, "I don't care; gear up, dead marine."

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

They worked the whole day in a breakneck speed, and they were extremely grateful when their case was solved and they were free to go home. Their reports could wait.

McGee arrived at his home and greeted Jethro, who danced around him excitedly. He silently walked into the bedroom, and smiled at the scene he found: Margot slept hugging one of his pillows, several sheets of paper strew around his bed, and the drafts of the illustrations of a new adventure of the Detective Mirceaux Monet, which he had helped draft the plot, were over the bedsheets and over the floor.

Apparently, she had spent the whole day making the rough pencil draft. She would add the colors later on.

He approached his bed and ran the tip of his finger over her nose, which she twitched before opening her eyes. She smiled as she saw him, stretching like a lazy cat, in a move unconsciously erotic to McGee.

"_Salut, Monsieur _McGee." She blinks repeatedly and sits in the bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"I see you've been hard at work here," he starts collecting the pages from the floor, and she smiles at his admiration to her work.

"_Oui_, your _idées_ are very good. I've worked on the basic drawings but I think that we might finish the illustration drafts until Friday, so I can present to my editor on the next Monday."

"That's good," he says, folding his arms as he looked at her. "You hungry?"

"_Oui_, would you like to see what I've prepared for you?"

"You've prepared something for me? You didn't have to do that!"

"Ah, but I should. You kindly helped me with my detective, giving me ideas for my next _band desinee_, of course I should prepare you a delicious _mediterranée repas_!"

She jumps from the bed, and McGee can't help looking her up and down as she fixes her t-shirt over her body, her track pants hugging her curves very invitingly.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

Since he met her on Saturday, they've sat for long hours exchanging plot ideas and she, enjoying very much the brainstorming session they had engaged, asked if he would like to help her in preparing the plot of a new series for her detective story.

He felt honored, but had initially said that he couldn't do it, as it would interfere with his work.

_"Non, non,_ I'm sure that we can find a way not to interfere with your usual police work," she said, with a smile, leaving him staring at her back as she collected the tea cups and washed them under the running water.

"Excuse me?"

"You are a cop, _n'est-ce pas?" _

"I didn't tell you that. Why do you think I'm a cop?"

She smiled softly, "I'm a writer, and I'm a _resercheur _of human behavior. You do not act like a fellow writer, but as a friend of mine, who works for Interpol in Marseille."

"What?"

She nods, and wipes her hand in a delicate kitchen cloth, with several flowers painted in it, _"Oui."_

She points to him, "You are very alert of your _environs _- she frowns, thinking about the word in English - _Oui_, surroundings; your first question was about my security in this place. You immediately checked the entrances and the exits of the house as soon as you stepped inside. Your dog is not only a pet; it's a retired police dog. Not guard dog. Drug dog perhaps? Ah..."

McGee keeps staring at her fascinated, as she approaches him and takes his hand in hers, "But the last clue to the enigma that is _Monsieur _Timothy McGee, is here," her fingers glide softly over his open palm, touching the lifeline and bringing a shiver to him, as he lifts his eyes and finds her gaze fixed into his.

"Your hands denounce you. The calluses in here," she points one point and another in his hand, "are from a man who constantly holds a firing weapon. By the size and location, I would guess a Sig. Yet you're not vicious, your eyes are clean of malice," her mismatched eyes study his attentively, trying to see into his soul, "and despite of you, _Monsieur_, having been granted the chance by the Goddesses of Fate to see me in very little clothing, you kept your eyes either away from my body, or on my face. And that's something only a true gentleman would do."

He looks fascinated at her, "How do you do that?"

She smiles at him brightly, releasing his hand, and walking towards one of the pots with herbs hanging from the kitchen window, "Elementary, my dear _Monsieur _McGee. It's the power of observation, that you have yet to refine, in order to become a better writer, and an even better investigator."

"How can I do that?" He stands up, and walks towards her, as she supports her six on the kitchen sink and looks at him with eyes twinkling, " How can I improve my powers of observation?"

"I could teach you, but for a price."

He smiles lightly, looking at her face, as she looks at him just waiting for his reaction.

"Am I going to regret this?"

_"Je ne sais pas_. Are you going to regret this?"

"What's the price?"

She smiled softly, and took a step towards him, invading his personal space. He gulps but takes a step towards her, so both are just a few inches away from each other.

"_The_ kiss."

He chuckles, "That's a very low price for such an amazing exchange. I could gladly offer it to you and there would be no need for you to offer me anything in return."

"Ah, _Monsieur _McGee," she smiles coyly, and leans towards him, her mouth hovering over his cheek, and he closes his eyes as she whispers in his ear.

"It's not _a _kiss. It's _the _kiss."

"I still don't see the difference," he says, as she leans back, staring into his eyes, her lips just a couple of inches of his.

"That's the point. You have to keep on kissing me until I tell you that one kiss is _the kiss _that I was waiting for. The one that surpasses all kisses before that one, marking all those before as unremarkable, and the ones yet to come, as something that must be waited with great expectation."

"So you just want me to... kiss you. Over and over?"

"_Oui_. Too much for you?"

"No, but... I don't understand. Why me?"

She smiles and lifts one hand to glide softly against his cheek, "_Papa m'a dit,_ when I was a little girl, that I would know when it's time to fight for a man." She looks into his eyes, "_Papa m'a dit,_ that I should fight to keep the man, who, once given the choice of looking at my body or my eyes," she blinks slowly, and McGee feels hypnotized by her mismatched gaze, "he would not be able to tear his gaze away from my eyes."

Her hand moves from his cheek to his neck, bringing him closer to her lips, and the last thing McGee sees before kissing her was two bright irises, one hazel and one green.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

She dragged him to the kitchen, all the time telling him about her visit to the supermarket, how she had to fight with the butcher for a finer piece of meat, and how expensive the fish in DC was.

With expert hands, she brought some fish fillets and cut them in the right sizes, got a bottle of extra virgin Olive Oil that he was sure wasn't there that morning from his kitchen cupboards, and started to prepare a typical Mediterranean dish that had him salivating only with the smell.

When he actually started to eat it, he moaned such was the rich flavor in it.

"_Allors_, what do you think?"

"Gosh, this is good."

Jethro came to her, begging with big sad eyes for a piece, and Margot cut a piece of the fish and gave it to him.

"No, please, don't do that." McGee moaned, as the dog would have digestive problems due to the seasoning on it.

She giggled as Jethro licked his chops, looking at her begging for more.

"_Papa _McGee doesn't want me to feed you, Jethro. Go!" She points to the corner where the dog bed stays, and the dog whines and goes there, looking at her with sad eyes.

McGee finishes his plate, cleaning his mouth with a paper napkin with delicate drawings of lavender bouquets, "This was good. Really good. What's the name of this?" He points to the remains of one dish.

_"Aïoli" _

"That's nice. And this?"

_"Caviar d'aubergines." _

"And this?"

_"Ratatouille." _He smiles at her, as she looks at him waiting for his opinion, "I've never eaten anything as tasty as these..." She squeals and jumps in his arms, hugging him and making him laugh.

"_Oui_, now, come, we have to figure out how Monsieur detective will figure out who is the killer of Lady Mildred, who was in a room which was locked from inside."

He smiles, and lets himself be dragged into his room, in order to plot the new amazing adventure of Monsieur Monet.


	7. More letters

_**Chapter: More letters**_

"_Dear Watson, _

_Again I rely on your expertise to solve a puzzle that has gotten to me. Mr. Y has..."_

_NCIS NCIS NCIS_

_" Dear Holmes, _

_Your missive has again reached me in a timely manner, and here I partake my knowledge on this poison with you. It reacts this way in the body, leaving the following symptoms to be observed..."_

_NCIS NCIS NCIS_

_"Dear Watson, _

_"Have you noticed how that Scot has changed the names and facts of our adventures, yet he managed to butcher our names? Please, what kind of respected writer would name his hero as __Sherlock__?_

_Your always faithful friend,_

_H._

_NCIS NCIS NCIS _

_"Dear Holmes, _

_At least he didn't butcher my name. Much. Mary requested me to ask you to come visit us next spring. Our son frequently asks about you, and he would be ecstatic to see again the hero of so many bedside stories I tell him._

_Dr. W._

_NCIS NCIS NCIS_

_Dear Watson,_

_If time and weather allows me, I'll be arriving to your residence in a fortnight._

_H._

_NCIS NCIS NCIS _

_Dear Holmes, _

_Thank you very much for your visit to our humble abode. John has spoken greatly about you for so many years and only now, during your last visit that I had the privilege of really getting to know you beyond the brief meetings we've had through the years. Your stories don't do you justice, and seeing you and John together made me realize the preciosity of the friendship you two share. _

_I have to confess, for a long time I've envied your easy camaraderie with my husband, but now I see how you two are one and the same, just rough cuts of the same stone, that from being so different and ragged at the edges, you mix perfectly. _

_I'm glad that my husband can call you friend, and I'm glad that my son is growing up hearing __to __your stories._

_Thank you for being a faithful friend to John. I don't think he has ever said how highly he regards you._

_So I'm saying it in his behalf._

_Mary Watson._

_NCIS NCIS NICS _

_Dear Mrs. Watson,_

_I have to confess that you were also a great surprise. I was initially insecure of the wisdom of my faithful friend putting aside his career by my side for the joys or trials of married life. You are indeed a good person, who actually makes Watson happy._

_I thank you for that._

_H._

_NCIS NCIS NCIS_

_Dear Holmes, _

_Fear grips my chest as I write to you this letter. A fever like none I've seen before has swept our village. I've struggled restlessly against the cold tendrils of death, and still I'm not sure if my knowledge in the medical arts is enough to save my patients who lie wasting away in cots everywhere in our little county. _

_Mary is sick; I've sent our boy away in order to keep him away from all death and sickness that now surrounds our once beautiful home._

_I'm despairing, Holmes. No logic or deductive reasoning can solve this puzzle, on how flesh before so firm can become so pale, and then lifeless._

_W._

_NCIS NCIS NCIS_

_Dear Watson,_

_I'm arriving in two days. Don't __lose __hope._

_H.__  
_

_NCIS NCIS NCIS_

_Dear Holmes._

_All is lost. All is lost._

_Mary is dead.__  
_

_Dr. W._

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

The powerful train slides noisily towards the station, the steam coming out in billows making clouds of vapor cutting the fog.

A red haired man and a small boy, not older than seven, were standing watching the huge black beast stopping, among several other people who watched anxiously the arrival of the southbound express.

Several people start coming out of the train, and the little boy tries to see between the crowds' legs, as suitcases and bags are put on the platform and people rush to meet their relatives.

Finally, a tall man in a deep winter coat leaves the train, holding a small travel suitcase in his hand, a fashionable hat on his head, and a wooden pipe hanging from his lips.

The little boy, as soon as he saw him, smiled and fidgeted, escaping his father's grasp and running towards the tall man.

"Mr. Holmes! You came!"

Holmes immediately dropped the suitcase and kneeled on the floor, preparing himself to the human projectile jumping into his arms. The boy jumped in the air, being caught and squeezed against the wool clad chest.

"It's remarkable how strong and tall you've became since the last time I've seen you, young mister Watson." He says to the boy in his arms. He glances up and sees his old friend looking at him with a small smile, the lines of suffering and grief firmly written in his face.

"It's good to see you, Holmes."

"It's good to see you too, Watson."

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

After Mrs. Watson unfortunate demise, Holmes and Watson shared lodgings again, but this time little Mr. Watson absorbed like an sponge the teachings of both men, in all matters one or other adult took the time to teach him.


	8. BD accepted

_**Chapter 8: BD accepted**_

McGee's phone chirped, indicating an incoming SMS message. He glances briefly at Gibbs, who is talking with Ducky over the dead marine.

He turned his back to the crime scene, and tried to unsuspectingly check his messages folder in his iPhone. He smiles with whatever message is written in it, just to yelp as Tony grabs the cell phone out of his hand, as he had come silently behind him unnoticed.

"Haven't you learnt yet that this is school night, Probie? No text messaging while at work to …" he looks at the "Babel. What kind of name is Babel anyway?"

"It's not your business, Tony. Now give me my phone back."

"No. Not until you tell me who Babel is."

"There's nothing to tell, Tony."

"So, what does the message '_BD accepted'_ means? Is that some kind of venereal disease?"

"It's nothing like that. Can I please have my phone back?"

"You've been very mysterious lately."

Tony looks him up and down, seeing that he looks not fitter, but, well, healthier, and there was an aura of contentment around him that Tony found irritating.

And the only reason for him to be irritated about it was because he didn't know the reason why Probie was so content lately, as he had told him nothing.

Zilch. Nada.

And he was eager to find out.

"What's going on with you? Have you reached the perfect online score? Your online date has finally accepted to meet you?"

"That's nothing like that, Tony. Now may I please have my phone back?"

Gibbs approaches both men and head slaps both, taking the mobile phone from Tony's hands and throwing it to McGee, who scrambles to get it before it reaches the floor.

"Enough, I need a BOLO in our Marine's car, and the name's of all people who knew him."

"On it, Boss." Both men say, chagrined.

A few minutes later.

"You are going to tell me what's happening or not, McGoo?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

Later that week, after her return from meeting with the comics' editor in New York, Margot wakes up and glances lightly at McGee, who was snoring away on the pillow. She smiles at him, noticing the tired lines around his eyes for working all night two days in a row on the last case.

She wiggles out of the bed, and silently walks to the living room, where she opens her drawing suitcase, getting the final art of the newest adventures of Monsieur Monet, a graphic art novel which would rival 300, according to her editor. The plot, a convoluted mix of traditional detective stories with the most advanced techniques of forensics, had gripped her editor in such a way that he had ensured her it would be a success.

She smiles and thinks about all the Watsons before her, those who held such secret for so many years. Then she thinks about the man sleeping peacefully in the bedroom, who has granted her the chance of keeping her legacy alive.

She ponders about what to do, and how to speak to him about how his life was about to change, and puts the delicate final art paper back into its protective cover.

She walks in light steps back into his room, looking at the slumbering man with a tender look. Margot silently lifts the covers and lies beside McGee again, her head coming back to the pillow she had vacated a few minutes before.

Her arrival awakes McGee, who opens his eyes and fixes in her face, who is silently studying his face like a bug in a microscope.

"Who are you Margot Watson?" he murmurs, looking into her mismatched eyes.

She stares into his eyes without a word for a moment, before her hand leaves its resting place among the bed sheets and moves to cradle his face, her long fingers tracing the line of his jaw until it reaches his lips.

_"Je suis la femme qui vous avez toujour attendu."(I'm the woman you've been always been waiting for.)_

He doesn't look away as she leans forward slowly, very slowly, until her lips touch his, in a soft caress designed to show tenderness, not lust. He blinks and closes his eyes, his bigger hand going to the back of her neck, as he opens his mouth and demands more, to which she happily obliges.

Words, either in English or in French, were unnecessary until dawn.


	9. Green or Hazel? Or Both?

_**Chapter 9: Green or Hazel? Or Both?**__**  
**_  
"McGee, these last few months we've been together, we've created an amazing tale for our Monsieur Monet. I loved to hear the tales of your work, the same way I've loved to hear the tales you weaved around your own characters."

He looks up from his computer, turning to look at her, who is looking at him with a serious expression on her face.

"But now, it's time for me to tell you a story."

"What story? You've told me several already. One more amazing than the other. It's no wonder you're an amazing writer. You are so full of ideas."

_"Non, mon cher." _She touches his lips, silencing him. She walks to the cupboard, and takes a small wooden chest, very ornate and with engravings on top of it, and deposits it on his lap. Since she had moved in with him, four months before, his small appartment had gained small feminine touches here and there. A flower vase on the kitchen table. A higher thread count on the linens on the bed. That secretive engraved chest on his bookshelf.

He felt pampered.

He felt loved.

He looks at her curious, uncertain of what's going on. She looks at him with serious eyes, starting her tale.

"This story is not mine. It belongs to the Watson family. It all began several years ago, when my Great-great-grandpa met this man when he arrived in London back from the War in the Indies. They shared lodgings in Bakers Street. However, Grandpa right away noticed that there was something special about this gentleman..."

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

"And that was the last time that Watson saw Holmes alive," says Margot, holding carefully the wooden pipe in her delicate hand.

McGee lowered the delicate paper of the century old letters to the wooden chest, "So Holmes really died when he fell from Reichenbach Falls."

Margot grimaces, "Right setting, wrong place. He actually died when he fell from Powerscourt Waterfall, in Ireland, not in Switzerland as Doyle wrote it. His body was found a few miles down the stream by a farmer. Doyle thought very common and inferior to have the great detective die in the impoverished island which was giving so many headaches to the Crown, so he moved the setting to something more romantic."

"Wow, that's amazing."

"Yes, it is."

"So it was all true," he lifts another letter, the old ink blurred but the letters could still be read with a little bit of effort.

"Most of the stories written by Conan Doyle until the Great Hiatus were actually based in real facts, pinched from the correspondence between Holmes and Doyle which lasted most of their adult life. Once Holmes died, Great-great-Grandpa went to Edinburgh, met Doyle and requested the original letters to be trusted into his care, in order to forever protect Holmes' real identity. Doyle agreed, as long as he still had the privilege of writing about him. He used the information up to his death, hoping to finish the saga with Holmes falling in Reichenbach falls."

She approaches McGee, leaning towards him and taking one of the delicate letters in her hand, careful not to tear it out, "However, due to public outcry, he had to revive his detective, so he started writing again, but based mostly on what he thought Holmes would do, not actually what he had done while living. The difference on his writings on the different periods - before and after the great Hiatus - was blatant, and the rumors abounded saying that Doyle had based his accounts on a real person. However, he kept his promise to Holmes and Watson, and never confirmed the rumors, keeping the true identity of the players safe."

McGee lifts his eyes from the papers in his hands, and looks at Margot, who is touching the letter in her hand reverently.

"Thanks for sharing this secret with me. I'm honored by your trust in me."

She glances at him and smiles softly, her cat eyes shining with a twinkle that he'd come to identify as wicked.

"I'm the last Watson in the line, McGee."

She puts the letter back in the chest, and stretches her arm so her delicate hand takes the letter in his hands and returns it to the pile inside of the chest too.

"And, traditionally, the responsibility always falls on the male heir to pass on knowledge to the next generation."

She takes the chest from his lap and deposits it on the table, and takes two steps and sits on his lap, straddling him. He groans lightly when her young body enters into contact with his, so his hands automatically go to her slim waist to hold her in place.

She smiles wickedly as she studies his face, her lips a few inches from his face distracting him from what she's saying, "And now, this responsibility is yours."

His gaze lifts from her lips to her mismatched eyes, and she is just waiting for his reaction to her words. Finally his brain picks what she's said. "Mine? I don't understand, it's your family secret. Why should I be its keeper now?"

She leans forward and takes his lips in a sweet kiss, biting softly his full lower lip before dropping kisses along his jawline, her pointy nose being rubbed softly against his cheek, bringing a moan out of his chest as he closes his eyes and tightens his arms around her chest. She finally reaches his ear, and says in a very low voice with her lips just two inches away from his earlobe.

"You're the keeper of our secret as you've created the next Watson who now grows within me."

Her words take a while to finally sink into McGee's mind, who opens his eyes in shock and leans her back, so he can look into her face. She smiles at his astonishment as she stares into his eyes.

"What... You're pregnant?"

She nods, "I just wonder one thing... What color will his or her eyes be? Green or Hazel? Or both like mine?"

His shout of joy could be heard from across the street.

- the end -

* * *

a/n: Thanks for all those who enjoyed this tale.

Watchdog, you just gave me my plot for the next story.


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